Prophecy Boy
by FishGuts And LabRat
Summary: In a reality of conflicting prophecies and strange races, the apocalypse is rapidly approaching. Grasping at straws, the nameless "management" of the world acts on a probably false foretelling. But when the guess unites Dean Winchester, his unnaturally wise kid brother, a dead boy with two black wings but no name, and an ancient, alien being, things really get out of hand. AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a collaborative fic by Fish and me, likely to focus mainly on Supernatural characters. It is alternate universe, taking place in a fantasy world. Sorry if it is a bit confusing at first.**

** Since Fish is also writing this, ships will probably included. Rating will be a stable T, though. -Rat**

Prologue

It was a calm, lazy night. Humidity hung in the air, undisrupted, and two boys lounged lazily in the grass. If one was to look very closely, one might have noticed a spot of suspicious red liquid on the older boy's shirt. One could also notice the way that the younger's eyes darted around, checking the surroundings quickly before flopping down onto the grass beside the first boy. One might have noticed the knives hidden in their clothing, the salt pouches, the flasks of holy water. But no one was looking and the evening went peacefully as both of them stared up at the sky, either too tired to speak or not wanting to.

"Dean?" The younger one said suddenly, piercing the humid air.

"Yeah?" The one called Dean turned to look at him.

"Can I ask you something?" His younger brother demanded.

"Shoot."

"If I die, please don't do anything about it."

Dean swallowed, looking at the younger boy with a strange sort of horror in his eyes, "Sammy-"

"No, please. You know what happens." Sammy sounded determined.

"You're too young for this discussion," Dean's voice was forced.

"Then dad and you shouldn't have taken me with you today."

"Fair point." Dean conceded, but said nothing more.

A silence stretched just then, for what could have been seconds or hours. Sammy turned over to see his brother's face, but Dean's expression was neutral, almost peaceful, and eyes were closed. Anyone else would have said that the fifteen year old boy was sleeping.

"You know that family comes first, Sam." He muttered finally.

"But that wouldn't matter if you brought me back and I wasn't your family anymore." His younger brother argued. "Please, Dean."

"Alright," Dean sighed. "I will not."

"Promise?"

"Promise. But you have to promise me something, too."

"Yes?"

"Don't die any time soon."

"I won't."

Sammy curled into a little ball, turning away from his brother, which Dean took as a cue that the conversation was over. It was often that they came here- if the weather was nice, the boys preferred to spend the night without their slightly-maniac father, and Sam hated how cramped their cabin was. Dad wouldn't normally let them sleep out in the woods, but this was the clearing where the fairies danced. Even Uncle Bobby thought those were safe, and it took quite a lot for something to be declared as safe by Uncle Bobby.

Dean looked at his brother's tiny form and decided that Sammy was right. It was stupid of their dad to take the eleven year old boy with them that day. There were too many things his brother didn't understand... _oh, who was Dean kidding? _There were far too many things that his brother understood far too well, and if it didn't scare the hell out of him, he wasn't Dean Winchester. And that was a strange phrase, because everyone knew that nothing scared Dean Winchester. He couldn't afford to be scared, with the things his dad did. The things his dad battled.

There were four races in Dean's messed up world. There were people, like him and Dad and Sammy. Those were the good guys. Then there were the Strangers. No one actually knew what the strangers were. No one knew what they looked liked, how they lived, how to kill them. But none of that mattered because the strangers didn't matter. Everyone left them alone, and they returned the favor. Only in the dead of the night were the stories about the strange ones told; they were giant and green and they ate you from the inside and then wore your skin like clothing. They were metal and they threw lightning at you if you didn't do as they said. They had scales, gills, horns and weird things grew out of their faces instead of eyes. They drank blood. They could turn into anyone they wanted. They lived all alone because they couldn't move while you were looking at them.

Then there were the Circe, more commonly called monsters or fiends. The Circe were known very well, but no less feared. They had black eyes and were supernaturally strong, but couldn't pass salt lines. A Circe had killed Dean's mother when he was very young. Dad would kill that Circe someday, though, because his dad, with all his faults, was still a hero. Finally, there were the Nameless. Most would agree that the nameless were nowhere as scary as the Circe. They were like people, but stranger and more beautiful in their living death. No one actually knew what they wanted: sometimes people even made them out to be heroes- it was hard not to, with their perfect, sharp features and their magnificent wings with varying shades of gray and black, and their hate for the evil Circe. Dean, however, knew better. There was that time his dad took him with him to hunt a Circe, but the thing's enemy race had gotten there first.

He remembered the way that the Nameless turned, looking as if it didn't care that the humans approached; not precisely slow, but almost graceful. He remembered the way that the black blood of the fiend dripped off its long white fingers. The way that the black black wings unfurled suddenly and how it was gone quicker than Dean could track. But the one detail Dean remembered clearest were its eyes. Its face looked human at first; gaunt, framed by dark curls, not much older than Dean. And then its head turned and it looked directly into Dean's eyes for what was probably longer than normal and any trace of human was gone. There was something about those too-blue eyes, something so out of place that Dean Winchester, who was never scared of anything or anyone except maybe when it concerned his younger brother, dropped his blade and screamed a little. It could have been how empty they looked, confused. As if something should be there -something that always was there- had vanished. As if the empty space still couldn't understand why it was there.

_Yes, _Dean decided, glancing once again over at his baby brother, Sam was too young to go hunting with them. It was a known fact that all of the Nameless were people at some point, and Dean could see very clearly why that frightened Sammy.

Death wasn't permanent, not always. But the cost of life was humanity.

"Don't die," Dean whispered into the night air once more. "Don't die, Sammy."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry, this chapter is really short again. They'll get longer soon, promise. **

A raindrop landed in between Dean's eyes, making him sit up with a start. A rainstorm. Of frigging course.

"Sam!" Dean groaned, sitting and throwing that quilt thing he used instead of a sleeping bag off. The last thing he wanted was to get utterly soaked and have Sammy catch a cold. "Wake up! It's raining!"

"Go 'way" His brother mumbled, curling up into little ball even as small droplets of water fell on him. Sometimes Dean thought that his little brother could sleep through the end of the world. "Wan'ta sleep now."

"Sa-a-ammy!" Dean shook his brother roughly by the shoulder, finally getting him to sit up.

"It's raining," Sam stated sleepily.

"Yes, sleeping beauty, that's what I've been trying to tell you," Dean snorted. "C'mon."

Sam wormed out from under his tangled blanket, scooping it up and standing up, and the two brothers scrambled towards the woods, breaking into a run as the rain intensified from a light sprinkle to an actual rainstorm. It was a walk from the meadow to their cabin, but a short one, and the boys slowed down as they reached the pines, where, under the thick branches, the rain was almost not noticeable.

"Should've known," Dean shrugged, glancing at Sammy. "The air was real moist last evening."

Sam wasn't looking in his direction, though. "Hey Dean, who's that?"  
"Who's who?" Dean asked, squinting in the same direction.

"Over there, there's someone. Just standin'." Sam pointed.

After a moment, Dean realized it was true. The silhouette of man was just barely visible through the rain, standing on the exact same spot as Dean and Sam left a few minutes ago. He looked uncomfortable under the rain, arms pulling a sort of long cloak around himself, otherwise remained completely still. It looked like he was staring at them, though it was impossible to tell in the dark.

"Let's go, Sammy, now," Dean broke into a sprint, careful not to go too fast for his younger brother, but Sam had no trouble keeping up. Dean wondered who it could be. There was something familiar about the figure, but he couldn't place it, so he just dismissed it. After all, it was just a silhouette. But the thought had already creeped into his head and secured its position.

Fifteen minutes later, the boys huddling inside of their cabin. Their father must have left at some point that night: a case could have popped up or he could have just wanted a drink. Whatever. Dean and Sam were used to it now.

"What's up?" Sam asked suddenly, looking at his brother with a slightly worried expression.

"What makes you think something is up, Sammy?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost…"

"I've seen ghosts before."  
"That's not what I meant and I think you know it." Sam insisted. The rain must have woken him up pretty well.

"It's nothing. Alright?" Dean sighed. "You said you wanted to sleep. So sleep! Just leave me alone."

Dean watched Sam turn away, a hurt look on his face. The harshness of his answer surprised Dean, too. He didn't know why he acted that way. He desperately searched for a reason, but couldn't find anything even resembling one. He closed his eyes, trying to distract himself from the mysterious silhouette as rain pattered on the glass window. Dean turned to Sam, thinking about apologizing to him. To his surprise, though, the boy was asleep.

Dean wasn't tired. Not at all. But still, he lay his head down, trying desperately to fall asleep. But as he glanced at the window, something caught his eye. He sat up, propelling himself closer to the window, and looked through the cloudy glass. A hint of movement, then- the same exact figure that they saw through the rain. It was closer now, and Dean could see that it was most certainly male, and wearing a long garment that reminded him slightly of a bath robe.

He rushed towards the door and made sure it was locked (of course it was, they were Winchesters after all) and then carefully checked the salt lines on the doorway and windows.

When he was sure the house was safe, he returned to his place next to Sammy, staring out the window once more. Nothing. Alright. That was good. He knew better than to stop watching the shadows move outside of the window, of course, but this meant he could probably close his eyes for a minute. Just a single minute, that was all. One minute…

"Dean, wake up!" Sammy's clear voice rang out somewhere over Dean's head.

"Whaa?" Dean sat up. It was still dark. Did something happen? How could he have allowed himself to fall asleep? "What's wrong?!"

"It's morning. Sure doesn't look like it, though." Sam explain lightly. "Still raining."

"Oh." Dean yawned, feeling like a bit of an idiot.

"Dad's still out. Probably a case. It's your turn to make breakfast."  
"Yes. Breakfast. Right." Dean nodded, standing.

He noticed that the rain was thinning, nearly invisible now, and no more mysterious figures were to be seen. Sammy watched him as he made his way to the small kitchen. Everything was totally back to normal now. No reason to worry.

"Hey, Dean! Look at that!" Sammy exclaimed suddenly from the other room. He joined Dean in the kitchen, carrying a long black object in his hand. "I found this on the front porch. Neat, huh?"  
He held up the thing, twirling it in his fingers. It seemed very light, and after a moment Dean realized it was a feather.

"Can I see?" He asked, stretching out his hand.

"Sure." His brother replied, obviously pleased to see that Dean also thought that his find was cool.

The feather was twice as long as Dean's arm and nearly as wide as his palm. It was black, the long grey shaft being the only spot of color on it. One side was a lot wider than the other one, and the shaft seemed to curve slightly.

"Wow," Dean said, looking at it closely. "Wonder what left that baby lying around."

"It must have been a fat wild turkey."

"Or a tail feather of a pheasant left from a hunt, those can be pretty long," Dean shrugged, turning back to what he was doing. He saw something in the corner of his eye, though, and spun back around, staring out of the window.

Dean felt a sinking sort of feeling in his stomach. Apparently the terror from last night wasn't gone with the daylight. He should've known- it never was.

"That's the dude from last night." Sam said from behind him, sounding more curious than anything.

In the daylight, Dean could see the man far more clearly than before. It was neither tall, nor short, but sort of skinny, with ebony black hair and wearing a long, old beige coat over black robes. Not a good sign: robes were deemed impractical by most folk, and generally worn by scholars or witchesAt that point, Dean also remembered what his dad had told him more times than he could count: _if you aren't sure of what to do, and you or your brother are, possibly, in danger, ask for help. I don't care if it is a false alarm, swallow up your pride and ask for help. _

"We're going to Uncle Bobby's, Sam." Dean decided. "Grab your stuff, we might be there overnight."

Leaving the house, was, he realized later, his first big mistake.


End file.
